The gardener's lament

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Beyond capacity


Remember in May:  
Those pin-neat rows
go rogue in summer heat.



Fine beauty in June.
Come July, gay abundance. 
Next up, chaos.
By September, I look no more.



Aficionado of the planning,

I am caught by the glory of the seeds

in January catalogues.

The tilling and toil never mentioned.




NOTE: We were late getting the tomatoes planted, so we are behind on the harvesting date, too. It will likely be two or so more weeks until red-ripening happens... #patiencerequired

NOTE: This prose poem was published on 50-Word Stories in early July. You can read it here, unillustrated. 


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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.

Comments

  1. AnnAugust 8, 2023 at 9:30 AM

    As ye sow, so shall ye reap.

    I sowed not, and neither shall I reap this year. What was once the tomato garden is now black eyed Susans. A perennial that should bring joy if not sustenance. But beauty does feed the soul.

    I love your poetry.

    ReplyDelete
  2. PamelakatAugust 8, 2023 at 12:23 PM

    A beautiful prose poem, made even more expressive with the photographs!

    ReplyDelete
  3. AnonymousAugust 8, 2023 at 4:21 PM

    Thanks Amanda, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by the hill in the front, my ambitions exceeded my skill set.

    ReplyDelete

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